


As Every Color Illuminates

by mithrilbikini (liasangria)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Illustrations, M/M, a combination of fic and art, that soulmate trope where people can't see color until they meet their soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liasangria/pseuds/mithrilbikini
Summary: One of the many well-kept secrets of Dwarfkind was this: their children were born unable to see color. Now, one might think a lack of color vision is a handicap, or at least, would make working with precious stones very difficult! But luckily, this affliction is not a permanent one. For you see, a Dwarf will live their formative years in a monochrome haze until the day they find their soul match. Then, and only then, will the veil of grey be lifted, and the true colors of the world revealed.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenbach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/gifts).



Our story begins, as stories often do, many years ago in a kingdom far away. Far beyond mountains and valleys and rivers deep, and a great dark forest, there stood a lonely mountain. But this was not just any ordinary mountain. This mountain was inhabited by Dwarves. Behind strong stone gates and over narrow bridges spanning vast chasms there was a glittering underground city filled with unimaginable wonders. Gemstones of every color were brought forth from the mines, and veins of gold and silver ran along the very walls. It was a beautiful city full of color and riches, far from the dreary, lightless place one might imagine an underground city should appear.

But for all the color and wonder, the people of this city, and indeed, the entire population of Dwarves all across the land, had a peculiar enchantment upon them.

One of the many well-kept secrets of Dwarfkind was this: their children were born unable to see color. Now, one might think a lack of color vision is a handicap, or at least, would make working with precious stones very difficult! But luckily, this affliction is not a permanent one. For you see, a Dwarf will live their formative years in a monochrome haze until the day they find their soul match. Then, and only then, will the veil of grey be lifted, and the true colors of the world revealed.

Many soul matches are romantic, though some are not. A soul match is not always a person, either, as there are several recorded cases of color vision coming upon a Dwarf who discovers their calling in life.

The heir to this wondrous kingdom, Prince Thorin, was very lucky indeed, for he was fortunate to meet his soul match at a young age.

It was a strange thing, though, for though the Prince and his Personal Guard Dwalin were undoubtedly soul matches, there were still gaps in their vision. The world they lived in was populated with greens and blues and violets and the palest of yellows. But despite having found a match in each other, there were still large swathes of grey. Rubies, Thorin said, were grey, and so was fire, Dwalin agreed.

It is a rare case indeed, when two Dwarves meet and can only see partial color, for that means there is a third person meant to complete the match.

For years and years Thorin and Dwalin lived happily in their life of green and blue and gold, and never once worried about finding their third fated match. They had each other, and were quite content with that. “Who needs yet another color to keep track of?” Dwalin said. 

After all, one cannot miss what one has never known.

And so it was, until the day a dragon came and the Dwarves were driven from their glittering kingdom in a blaze of white hot fire.

Now let us continue on to the heart of our story, which takes place in the present day, somewhere far from dragon-beset Dwarf kingdoms.

The Shire is a green and fertile land, lovingly tilled and cared for by a race of people called Hobbits.

It is one of these Hobbits who is a central figure in our tale. 

Bilbo Baggins is a bachelor, and he is quite content to stay that way. He lives alone in the house his father built, a respectable smial beneath the hill at Bag End. There he tends his mother’s prized garden. And if he has a bit of help from his neighbor Hamfast Gamgee, well, no one could blame him, what with his particular affliction.

For you see, Bilbo Baggins was born unable to see color.

A sad thing, every other Hobbit agrees, to be unable to enjoy the rich pinks and golds of a sunset; the bright, riotous yellows and reds and violets of wildflowers; the deep, cool greens of a forest; or the vibrant blue of the sky on a midsummer’s day. 

Once, when he was very young, his mother called in a favor from an old friend, a Wizard who went by the name Gandalf the Grey. (A very fitting name, Bilbo thought at the time.)

Gandalf had taken one look at the young master Baggins and simply smiled in a most infuriatingly enigmatic way. (A way that Bilbo would become very familiar with in later years.) 

“Not to worry, my dear Belladonna,” Gandalf told Bilbo’s mother, “It’s not a thing to be cured as much as it is a puzzle to be solved. And it will, in due time.”

-

And so it is one day, when Bilbo is in his fifty-first year, and had long since forgotten that the world is not supposed to be grey, that Gandalf reappears. Like a bad omen, Bilbo would later think.

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure,” Gandalf says.

“No, thank you,” Bilbo replies.

-

He’s forgotten the whole wizard business and has just sat down to dinner when there comes a knock at the door.

“Confound it,” he says. He wonders who it could possibly be, as most respectable Hobbits are sitting down to their own meals at this time. Bilbo briefly considers not answering, but the manners instilled in him as a young lad are hard to ignore, he can practically hear his mother’s admonishment even now.

So up he gets, leaving his dinner behind to get cold and makes his way to the front hall.

He opens the door to a Dwarf.

A rather large Dwarf, fierce and scowling, and if Bilbo were not in his own home he would be intimidated.

Instead, he stares in dumbfounded shock as the door beneath his hand blooms green.

  


At least, Bilbo assumes what he is seeing is green, since that’s the color his parents always told him the door was. He has no frame of reference for what colors are supposed to look like, after all. And not only that, but everything beyond the angry Dwarf is surging with vibrant color, despite the late hour, and it’s almost too much for his senses to handle. Greens and golds and the palest of yellows to the most vivid of oranges. Now he can see, in the golden lamplight spilling out the door, that the roses his mother had planted are, in fact, a creamy yellow. He stands there, stunned for a moment, thinking, _so that’s what yellow looks like._

The Dwarf on his doorstep looks just as surprised, peering at Bilbo as if he has suddenly grown a second head, and perhaps a third arm to match.

Bilbo does the only thing he can think of to do at the time, and invites this large Dwarf inside.

-

Eleven more Dwarves and the entire contents of his larder later, Bilbo Baggins is at his wit’s end. The noise and bustle of twelve Dwarves is nearly as overwhelming as his newly-acquired vision. He has no idea why _now_ of all times he begins to see colors, but he’s positive Gandalf has something to do with it. So it is with equal parts dread and relief that he goes to answer one last knock at the door.

There is another Dwarf, this one quite nearly as tall as the first (Dwalin, he’d introduced himself, once he’d gotten over whatever queerness had left him staring at Bilbo). The first thing Bilbo notices about this one is his clothing, as that is a color he hasn’t seen until now. There is a second wave of disorientation as the rest of the greys fill in. 

 

-

That night, with the Dwarves’ song still in his head, he dreams of color. Of glittering gemstones set in pale gold, and bright orange fire against a velvet blue night. And if his dreams then turn into visions of strong arms and wild dark hair and piercing blue eyes, well, that’s his own business, thank you very much.

-

The next morning finds Bilbo running at full-tilt through the Shire. It turns out green comes in many shades, but there is no time to stop and take it all in. Everything slips by in an intoxicating blur as he races down the road after the Dwarves who opened his eyes to this vibrant new world.

-

Bilbo can’t stop looking around. Everything is fascinating! Things he has previously never paid any attention to take on bold new dimension. Wildflowers bloom in every hue imaginable, from the most vivid red to the brightest yellow to the deepest violet. Light filtering through tree leaves makes them a bright golden-green, while the leaves still in shadow have a blueish tinge to them. His first sunset is almost too much to bear, and every sunset and sunrise thereafter is a new and different revelation. He very nearly stumbles off the trail more than once as he gapes at the scenery around him. 

Thorin and Dwalin, despite finally having their vision complete, quietly despair that the third part of their soul is found in this fussy, soft creature.

 

-

His new sword glows blue in the presence of goblins and Bilbo idly considers he would not have known the glow to have a color at all had he not opened his door that fateful night. Though, he would not have known goblins at all, had he not opened his door that fateful night.

His new golden ring does not actually glow, but rather seems to have a pale shine even in the darkness. But when he slips it on his finger everything goes horrifyingly monochrome again.

-

On the other side of the Misty Mountains, after wargs, and fire, and a dizzying flight on the backs of eagles, the company is left atop a high pillar of rock. There’s a moment of hushed quiet, as if the world holds its breath while Gandalf kneels beside Thorin’s still form. Bilbo stands awkwardly away from the rest, his little sword still crusted red with blood from the warg. He only looks up when he feels a looming presence beside him. It’s Dwalin, wearing his perpetual scowl. But now there is something else in his expression, as if Dwalin is seeing him not as a small, weak Hobbit, but someone worthy of respect.

“You ought to clean that off,” Dwalin says, gesturing at the sword. Then he looks Bilbo directly in the eye. “I can show you the best way to polish a sword, if you want.” There’s a strange inflection in the way he says it which makes Bilbo think there’s a second meaning beneath the first.

Then Dwalin winks at him and gives him a grin that is equal parts charming and terrifying, and Bilbo knows there’s a second meaning as he feels his face heat up.

There is no time to contemplate this new development, because Thorin awakens and Bilbo is swept up in the most encompassing yet gentle embrace he has ever known. As if a dam has burst, suddenly there are Dwarves all around him, cheering and pounding his back. He’s sure he’s imagining it but colors seem brighter and more vibrant in Thorin’s arms.

  


-

It’s in Mirkwood that Bilbo discovers not every color is beautiful. Here, even the green is sick-looking, and sunlight cannot pierce the thick canopy of tangled, cobweb-festooned branches which shroud the forest in perpetual gloom. Previously, the Dwarves had slept in groups of twos and threes, usually splitting among family or lovers. Here in the forest, nearly everyone gathers in a pile to conserve warmth. The only ones who still keep apart from the rest are Thorin and Dwalin, who sleep wrapped up in each other.

In the unnatural quiet, Bilbo’s keen ears can pick out the sounds of their murmuring, and he can’t help but think back to Thorin’s hug on the Carrock, and Dwalin’s flirtation. And how, since then, he would occasionally catch one or the other of them giving him an appraising look, or a quick, gentle smile. He can’t shake the feeling he’s missing something vitally important. That there’s a meaning behind the looks which remains elusive. 

So instead he listens the hum of their soft and undeniably fond conversation, and tries to ignore the pang of loneliness.

It’s not a puzzle he has the luxury of contemplating for long, however. Their provisions are quickly dwindling, and the only game to be found are scrawny black squirrels too quick even for Kili’s arrows.

And when they’re attacked by giant spiders and then captured by the Elven King directly after, Bilbo has no time to ponder anything.

-

Laketown is a dingy, unrelenting grey, and Bilbo almost thinks his vision has gone back to what it was before. He would mourn the loss of new and exciting colors to explore, were he not sick with a cold, still feeling waterlogged from riding barrels down a river, and all-around miserable. Although the rest of the company is in high spirits, Thorin is preoccupied and irritable, while Dwalin glowers more than ever.

That night, away from the din of celebrating Men and Dwarves, Thorin slips away to one of the balconies facing north, Dwalin his ever-present shadow. The mountain looms in the distance.

Bilbo is seeking to escape a crowded, too-warm room, with too many booted feet unerringly finding exposed Hobbit toes to trod upon, and so discovers them there. They are close, standing shoulder to shoulder in the blue-grey gloom of evening.

He doesn’t mean to overhear their conversation.

“According to Bofur, Hobbits are all born seein’ color. The burglar is unusual because he didn’t, up until he met us,” Dwalin is saying. 

“Hm,” Thorin says. 

“He’s not a bad sort, and he saved us. More’n once. I know you’ve taken a liking to him too.”

“Hm,” Thorin says again. His gaze never wavers from the Lonely Mountain. 

 

-

As they make their way to Erebor, Bilbo endures stories of the vast wealth within the mountain, and above all else, the crown jewel of the collection: the Arkenstone. Indeed, Thorin speaks of little else, often repeating himself, or trailing off mid-sentence. But the worst is how he looks when he does it, eyes shining fever-bright and filled with a terrible hunger.

Bilbo finds himself glancing to Dwalin, who, beneath his habitual glare (which Bilbo is slowly learning to read), looks more and more concerned with each passing day.

Since they left Laketown the world around them has become increasingly grey and bleak, Bilbo thinks. Now that he has known color, the thought of losing it again fills him with unspeakable dread. 

-

The awakening of the dragon and subsequent destruction of Laketown weigh heavily on Bilbo’s conscience, though not quite as heavily as the weight of the stone in his pocket. He has never seen a rainbow, himself, but the shifting and brilliant colors inside the Arkenstone catch any errant bit of light and scatter it into a thousand iridescent rays. It almost hurts to look upon, and everything else is drab and dull in comparison. 

It’s simultaneously the most beautiful and horrible thing he has ever seen. 

  


-

When Bilbo is cast from the mountain, everything really does go grey. He knows he isn’t imagining things this time. Personal grief over Thorin’s descent into madness aside, there’s a realization: something about being around Dwarves is what causes him to see in color.

When he brings it up to Gandalf, however, the Wizard only looks at him sadly. 

-

Thorin stands alone in the throne room, gazing at the hole above the throne where the Arkenstone should rightfully sit. This is where Dwalin finds him. 

The room had once been nearly every shade of green, shot through with the gleam of gold, glittering and beautiful. Now it looks dull and lifeless, all color gone, and darkness yawning to either side of the walkway. Dwalin is not sure if the the color has actually fled, or if that is simply how he perceives it in his despair. 

-

All color has faded for Thorin.

All color, save one.

  


He stands alone amongst the vast treasure of Erebor. 

(Was he not meant to have someone at his side?)

He picks up a golden chalice. The stones set into it are dark. He cannot tell if they are supposed to be sapphires or rubies.

-

After the battle, the pall cast over the battlefield lifts, and weak sunlight illuminates the land once more. 

The scene it shows is a grim one, however. 

The pale blue of the ice, the yellow of the setting sun, and the horrible red of blood all smear together through Bilbo’s tears. He would give it all back, if he could, gladly living in a world of grey if it meant saving Thorin’s life. 

He is not aware that his thoughts are tumbling out of his mouth into the air until he feels a large hand upon his shoulder. 

Dwalin is there, with Gandalf and Oin and a strange red-haired Elf (who looks vaguely familiar, though Bilbo cannot place her) in tow. 

While the three healers work, Dwalin hesitantly, and with the greatest of care, wraps an arm around Bilbo. Bilbo leans willingly into the embrace, returning it with a fierceness that takes Dwalin by surprise, as the sun sets in a glorious blaze of gold and red. 

 

-

Of course, all good stories must have happy endings, and this one is no different. 

Through the combination of Dwarvish and Elvish medicine, and a touch of Wizardry for good measure, Thorin makes a miraculous and almost full recovery. He will always carry the marks upon his body, though, and his side will always ache with the cold (a physical reminder of his folly, he says). 

It is while Thorin is convalescing that Bilbo finally learns the truth behind his odd vision, the last piece of the puzzle slotting neatly into place. The idea of a “soul match” is a foreign one to him, as Hobbits have no such things. But then again, Bilbo Baggins, for all that he played the part of a respectable gentleman back in the Shire, has always been an odd Hobbit. 

And it doesn’t matter a whit, he thinks, he would make the same decision regardless of soul matches or color vision.

So it is that Bilbo Baggins remains in Erebor as Prince Consort, at the side of King Thorin II Oakenshield, and Prince Consort Dwalin, son of Fundin, and together the three of them work to restore the kingdom to its former glory. Gemstones of every hue and tint are once again brought forth from the mines, and richly colored tapestries depicting great deeds commissioned and hung about the palace. 

Bilbo takes to decorating their living quarters in pillows and tapestries and furniture in every shade imaginable, with taste that borders on gaudy, and does so with an almost unholy glee. 

And everyone lived happily ever after, to the end of their days.

**Author's Note:**

> Art! And! Fic! what was i thinking!!?? I hope you like it, serenbach!!


End file.
